Chapter 3
His true colors revealed, Raully drew a knife, its well-honed blade gleaming sharply. At the same time, three other men with menacing faces emerged from the shadows—one behind Simon and two in front.
“…Well, it doesn’t really matter who you are,” Raully sneered, his confidence returning now that his comrades had joined him. He beckoned with a finger. “And it doesn’t change the fact that you’ve walked right into our trap. Put everything you have on the ground. Backpack, clothes, everything. Down to your underwear.”
“My underwear, too?”
“Nothing to be ashamed of. You can just pick out new clothes at the market,” Raully said, pointing to a nearby pile of trash. The other thugs snickered.
“Yep, that’s a Langerstine specialty. Who knows, you might get lucky and find a box?”
“Cover your privates and you’ll probably avoid a trip to the clink.”
“I refuse,” Simon replied with a bright, unwavering smile.
“…This little shit,” the expressions on the men’s faces turned savage.
“Looks like this country bumpkin doesn’t get it,” the man to Raully’s right growled, striding toward Simon. “A punk like you needs a little taste of the knife to come to his senses.”
“Hey, wait!”
Ignoring Raully, the man rushed forward, drew a dagger from his belt, and thrust it at Simon.
Simon fluidly shifted his weight, opening his right shoulder. The dagger sliced through empty air. In that instant, Simon pivoted to the side and seized the man’s wrist.
With a sharp application of pressure, the back of the man’s hand bent at an unnatural angle.
“Aaaaaargh!”
The man dropped his dagger and collapsed, letting out a terrible scream. Simon delivered a swift, resounding kick to his face.
“We get your type in our fiefdom sometimes,” Simon said calmly. “Trash who mix in with good people, demanding a payout.”
“…You, you bastard!”
Simon lightly dusted off his palms.
“It’s the duty of the lord’s heir to clean up such filth. It seems this neighborhood has its fair share. As someone in the same line of work, I thought I’d help out.”
“…So you’re a noble.” Raully raised an arm, giving a hand signal. Five more thugs swarmed in from the end of the alley. “All the more reason not to let you go.”
Simon calmly loosened his muscles. He’d expected two or three, but this was a larger, more organized group than he’d anticipated. Eight armed men against him, alone and bare-handed. Even for Simon, the odds were daunting.
Forgive me, Father. It looks like my arrival at Kizen might be delayed.
Simon lowered his stance, his expression serious. The thugs tensed, tightening their grips on their daggers. The air crackled with tension. A fight was about to erupt.
“Found you!”
A third voice, one that had no place in this alley, echoed through the narrow space. All eyes snapped toward the sound.
Someone was walking out from the deep shadows. She had hair as black and glossy as the night sky, a face that still held a trace of youth, and she wore blood-red, moon-shaped earrings. Simon guessed she was around his age, perhaps a few years older.
What now? Raully bit his lip. What the hell was the lookout doing? He was nowhere to be seen.
“…This has nothing to do with you. Get lost.”
Despite Raully’s warning, the black-haired girl merely snorted in derision. The closer she got, the more the thugs tensed, instinctively taking a step back. A primal sense of fear and aversion washed over them. They didn’t know why, but this woman radiated danger.
“Don’t get scared,” Raully hissed as his men began to waver. “It’s eight against two. We wrap this up quickly and get out of Langerstine before the guards come.”
Hearing this, the girl smiled faintly.
“Eight against two? I don’t think so.”
As if reacting to her presence, the piles of trash and bags scattered throughout the alley began to stir. Bone fragments tore through the refuse and floated into the air.
“You know,” she said, her voice laced with amusement, “the building right ahead is a skeleton shop.”
Clack. Clack.
The bones began to assemble themselves. Fragments of different sizes and types creaked as they slowly formed complete bodies.
The color drained from the faces of Raully and his men. In that moment, the same word flashed through all their minds.
…A necromancer!
Clatter! Clack!
In an instant, over twenty skeletons had surrounded the gang. Gripped by abject terror, the men couldn’t even breathe.
“Gah!”
“Ugh!”
The undead closed in, their bony limbs seizing the thugs and holding them fast. They clacked their jaws, their skeletal hands caressing the men’s faces or forcing their chins up.
“Oh, dear,” the girl purred, a bewitching smile on her lips. “It seems my children need some new friends.”
Clack! Clack!
The skeletons rattled their jaws in agreement. Some of the thugs foamed at the mouth; others felt a warm wetness spread through their trousers.
…Incredible. Simon was stunned. The skeletons were cruder than his father’s, but to reanimate over twenty of them from scattered bone fragments on the spot was a display of immense skill.
“I-I didn’t recognize you, my lady! Please, have mercy!” Raully stammered, bowing his head.
The girl unfolded her arms, her expression turning serious.
“Your affiliation.”
The skeleton holding Raully began to slowly scratch his neck with its bony fingers. As five streams of blood trickled down his throat, Raully squeezed his eyes shut and shouted, “Clayven! We’re with the Clayven Crew!”
“Ah, I’ve heard of them. A surprisingly large organization for a bunch of petty thieves who prey on outsiders.” She placed her hands on her hips, her voice turning to ice. “Relay this to Clayven himself. He is to crawl from his hideout to the guards’ station with his face pressed to the ground and his hands behind his back. He will turn himself in.”
Raully’s face went deathly pale.
“P-Please have mercy…! I’d rather you turn me into an undead!”
The girl’s expression twisted into a vicious snarl, her voice dropping to an otherworldly, resonant tone.
“Are you giving me an order?”
The voice was alien, and it made Raully’s body stiffen with fear. She took a small breath, her voice returning to normal.
“Don’t try sending a fake. When I check, if his face isn’t sufficiently ground into the pavement, I will erase your entire organization from this world in the name of Kizen.”
At the mention of Kizen, all the thugs went pale and hung their heads. Raully, completely defeated, could only whisper, “…Understood.”
“Get lost.”
As the skeletons released them, the thugs fled as if their lives depended on it. Watching them scramble away, she clicked her tongue.
“Thank you for your help,” Simon said, bowing his head.
The girl finally turned to him.
“Ah,” she said, as if just remembering he was there. “Simon Polentia, right?”
Her tone was sweet, and thankfully, devoid of hostility. Simon quickly nodded.
“Yes, that’s right. If it’s not too much trouble, may I ask who you are…?”
“Who else would I be?” she said with a grin. “I’m the real guide.”
Simon’s eyes widened. Then this person is…?
She grabbed his wrist and pulled.
“Let’s go. Mom’s waiting.”
“…Mom?”
* * *
“Mooom!”
Behind the main square of Langerstine, the girl who had rescued Simon was squatting down, vigorously wiping cream from a child’s mouth. The child protested with muffled sounds, squirming, but the girl’s hands were firm.
“I told you to wait quietly! You’re always getting lost!”
“But-! They were giving out free ice cream samples in the square!”
And the child whining as her face was being cleaned was none other than Nephthys Archbold, the ruler of Kizen and the pinnacle of all necromancers. The Witch of Living Death, with ice cream smeared around her mouth… Simon was utterly bewildered. Even more bewildering was that the girl who had saved him was calling Nephthys “Mom.”
They were mother and daughter? They looked more like sisters. And if he had to pick the mother, it would be the older girl, not the one who looked like a ten-year-old child…
“Simon?”
The girl was looking at him.
“You were just thinking something weird, weren’t you?”
“N-No.”
After glaring at him suspiciously, she turned her head away with a pout.
Her intuition is incredible.
“You’ve had a long journey, Simon!” Nephthys chirped, trotting over. She may have looked like an innocent child, but her true identity was a monster who had lived for over three hundred years and plunged the world into terror.
Simon bowed politely.
“I greet the master of Kizen.”
“Whoa, you don’t have to be so formal,” she giggled, waving a hand. “It’s good to see you again. Did you learn anything from Richard?”
“Oh, yes! A little…” Simon immediately held out his palm. He activated his Core, channeled his mana, and drew out Jet-Black. The dark energy flowed down his arm and coalesced above his hand.
Swoooosh.
Simon’s unique Jet-Black, tinged with a faint blue light, flickered like a flame. Nephthys and the girl stepped forward in unison, their eyes wide. Seeing them like this, maybe they really were mother and daughter.
“Wow,” they breathed, their gazes filled with the appreciation of connoisseurs admiring a fine work of art.
“It’s been a while since I’ve seen blue-tinted Jet-Black,” Nephthys remarked.
“But it still has the properties of mana,” the girl added critically. “The fact that it’s flickering means it hasn’t escaped its gaseous state. You’ll need to learn how to use the Core more effectively.”
The two exchanged a brief, knowing nod.
“That’s enough, Simon.”
He dismissed the Jet-Black and stood up straight.
“There’s no need to be impatient,” Nephthys said kindly. “Kizen is, after all, a ‘school.’ You’ll learn much more in the days to come.”
“Yes, I’ll keep that in mind!”
“Well then, Lorraine?” Nephthys gave the girl a playful slap on the behind. “Take good care of our new student.”
“…Mom, you always make me do all the work,” Lorraine grumbled, pouting. Nephthys simply turned her back, pretending not to hear.
“Well, I’m going to have just one more ice cream and then head back to Kizen! I’ll go on ahead!”
“Oh, come on! Mom!”
Nephthys vanished as if fleeing, leaving the two of them alone in the square. Lorraine let out a small sigh and turned to Simon.
“I guess there’s no choice. Let me introduce myself again. My name is Lorraine Archbold. Like you, I’m a student at Kizen.”
“I’m Simon Polentia from Leshill! It’s a pleasure to meet you!”
“Alright. We’ve wasted enough time. Let’s get going.”
“Where are we going?”
Lorraine pushed a stray strand of hair from her face.
“It’s back-to-school season, isn’t it? We’re going shopping.”